


Adventures in Hard-Light Distortion

by NiteWrighter



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Mentioned Akande Ogundimu, Mentioned Moira O'Deorain, Mentioned Sanjay Korpal, Oh god so much dialogue, Strap-Ons, kind of dom/sub tones but it gets really soft at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 11:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22969243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiteWrighter/pseuds/NiteWrighter
Summary: Sombra wants to prove that you don't have to be in Vishkar to use Hard-Light. Widowmaker has plans that correlate with that.
Relationships: Sombra | Olivia Colomar/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Comments: 16
Kudos: 74





	Adventures in Hard-Light Distortion

Widowmaker was walking through the hallways of one of Talon’s more state-of-the-art facilities. She was about two days out of cryo-sleep, cooling down from a target practice session to insure her preservation had not dulled her skills. Her hands were pocketed in her black tracksuit, and her hood was up, her long ponytail snaking out of one side of it. She maintained her neutral expression as she paced past red, white, and black-clad Talon troopers and enforcers, and noted as their numbers thinned the further down she went. Sombra always had the same specifications for on-site lodging at any of Talon’s facilities, and those specifications usually left her in a lonely, claustrophobic area of the building—distinctly out-of-the-way for someone who was in virtually everyone’s business. Widowmaker could hear the humming of a boiler room just past the walls. A bit more walking and one more flight of stairs, and she found herself in front of a smaller-than-most metal door. She knocked and a dome camera flickered to attention, shining a purple lens on her.

“Araña!” a voice warbled to sound nothing like Sombra sounded through a comm in the door. It was fairly standard voice-scrambling, but Widowmaker thought it made her sound a little bit like like a cartoon character whose data had been corrupted. “You know the drill.”

“You change the passcode every week.”

“ _I_ said ‘Hey, what if I get an algorithm that sends you an updated passcode every 3 hours’ but _you_ were like ‘Sombra, Eef you do zat I will smash my comm and Akande will probably side weeth me on ze matt-air.’”

“Who updates the passcode for their room every three hours?” said Widowmaker.

“Smart people, Araña. Smart people.” 

Widowmaker’s shoulders slumped. “Fine. What _is_ the passcode?”

“Oh—I wrote it on your left foot during your cryo-sleep pedicure.”

Widowmaker huffed under her breath and dug her foot out of her rose and silver cross trainers, whipping the sock off. Widowmaker was well past being uncomfortable with the idea of being poked and prodded at as she slept—she was indifferent to it, at this point. For some reason, though, the image of Sombra next to her during her cryo-sleeps felt… grounding. Before they had started really seeing each other, so many of her conscious hours felt dreamlike—not necessarily a good dream, nor even a bad one—just like, reality wasn’t particularly glued down. Widowmaker almost chuckled at the idea that Sombra’s manic, rapid-fire conspiracy-spouting personality could be grounding, but she couldn’t say it _wasn’t_.

Years of ballet training meant Widowmaker didn’t stagger as she lifted her foot up and read the word, “Page 328.” Reaper had told her that Sombra read to her when she was under, he had spoken about it like it was a ridiculous thing, one more eccentricity of Sombra… but Widowmaker didn’t mention to him that she had told Sombra she wanted to read more. A book a month, even. Maybe Sombra just figured she was holding her to that. The door slid open with a whoosh. 

“I’m sure you’re aware of my mission—” Widowmaker started but as she stepped into the room, pulling her sock and shoe back on, but she paused. She couldn’t help noticing that Sombra had significantly more hardware crammed into her space than usual, along with a complicated, almost camera-looking object on her desk. Various little parts were on the floor, there were odd scorched lines across the walls and ceiling. Sombra herself wasn’t facing her, sitting cross-legged in her seat, clad in shorts and a loose purple tank top, exposing the side of her sky-blue sports bra, with her hair piled up in a messy bun. She was apparently occupied with several screens but also hunched over. “What are you doing?” said Widowmaker and Sombra suddenly startled. 

“Sorry,” said Sombra, swiveling around, “I’m used to splitting my attention.” 

“Yes—well,” Widowmaker started again, folding her arms, “I’m sure you already know about my next assignment in Podgorica and I was hoping—” Widowmaker cut herself off as she realized there was a slight blue glow in Sombra’s lap. Her eyes trailed down.

“Yes? Podgorica?” said Sombra, but she followed Widowmaker’s eyes downward and perked up, “Oh—Pfft—“ she grabbed the hard-light dildo from her lap, and gestured to it, “This—Don’t mind this. Just a side project.”

“…Do I want to know?” said Widowmaker.

“ _Do_ you want to know?” said Sombra, excitement flashing in her eyes. 

“That depends on if you are going to keep waving it around while you’re talking.”

“I’m a hand-talker, Araña, you know I talk with my hands,” said Sombra, casually gesturing with the dildo as she spoke. 

“Mm.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” Sombra took a short inhale to compose her self, “So,” she said, “As you know, I’m petty.” 

“Off to a good start,” said Widowmaker, sitting on Sombra’s bed and taking off her shoes.

“And I’m talking to Sanjay a few days ago—y’know talent scouting for Akande in the Vishkar International School of Brainwashing—- and he’s all ‘perfection’ this and ‘order’ that and Vishkar stuff like that, but he starting going on about how Hard-light is this _art_ , and how only a _select few_ who meet Vishkar’s standards, _mentally_ and _aesthetically_ , can handle the _intricacies_ of this art. The _spacial reasoning demands._ So of course I’m like, ‘Well with my modifications, it shouldn’t be too hard, I’m perceiving stuff that isn’t 100% there all the time, and I’m running simulations and algorithms all the time so…’”

“I’m guessing he didn’t like that.”

“Oh he didn’t. He really didn’t. So then he starts spouting off about how my data-scrambled, _horrifically_ grafted modifications couldn’t _possibly_ achieve the kind of constructs they were making in Vishkar.”

“And _you_ didn’t like that.”

“My modifications are hot as fuck, Araña. I’m pretty sure I made an Ogundimu Prosthetics engineer cum in his pants just by lifting my hair up.”

“Of course.”

“But here’s my point,” said Sombra waving the dildo at Widowmaker as if she were a teacher pointing with a pen, “After that whole exchange, I realized someone needs to take Vishkar down a few notches. They think their tech is something only they can do, like it’s this… magical, eugenic bullshitty… stuff. Now, as any loyal Talon member, I believe we have a responsibility to make sure our organization doesn’t veer off in any particular corporate vision.”

“And should Vishkar ever attempt to cut ties with us, we maintain access to that technology,” Widowmaker said in agreement.

“Exactly! Obviously, I have no doubt that Akande can course-correct by throwing Sanjay off a roof, but you know me, Araña! I like the subtle approach.”

_She said, wildly gesturing with a glowing dildo,_ thought Widowmaker, smirking a little. 

“…So,” said Widowmaker, “You downloaded schematics for a hard-light projector, 3-D printed the components, constructed it here in your room, accidentally lasering your walls and ceiling in the process, and your first instinct, after constructing this miraculous technology all on your own, was to make a dildo _._ ”

“It’s _art_ ,” said Sombra, apparently mimicking Sanjay’s aristocratic gestures, “The phallus as an art object has been around for millennia—obelisks and skyscrapers and yadda yadda—it’s all dicks. Vishkar makes skyscrapers. Skyscrapers are dicks. I made a dick, ergo Vishkar isn’t so special.”

“Your logic is truly dazzling,” said Widowmaker.

“And someone needs to show him that working with hard-light? It’s not that hard—MIERDA!” 

She had casually thrown her hands out in a gesture (she _was_ a hand talker), and the dildo hit the side of her desk and dematerialized with a somewhat distorted fizzing noise.

“Dammit, it took me like, 40 minutes to make that,” said Sombra, her shoulders slumping.

“Can you make it again?” said Widowmaker.

“Well, yeah. I should probably dial up the shock and impact absorption for the structure,” said Sombra, projecting several new purple screens. She shrugged. “Eh. I should probably get you that data you wanted for the Podgorica mission first, huh?”

“…I have time,” said Widowmaker, shrugging, “I would actually like to see you do it.”

Sombra scoffed and chuckled a little. “Well, I still have to use my own modifications as a sort of proxy,” she said, purple light blooming from her finger tips as she swiveled in her chair to the roughly constructed hard-light projector on her desk. Widowmaker watched as Sombra’s purple eyes flicked between her screen and the projector as first it projected a tubular grid frame of glowing blue lines.

“You’re doing this a lot faster than forty minutes,” said Widowmaker.

“Well, a lot of the numbers are already dialed in there. It was all mostly calculating,” said Sombra, dialing up the impact resistance on the construct.

“A bit too straight, _non?_ I’d give it a slight curve,” said Widowmaker.

“Yeah, more organic, huh?” said Sombra tweaking the framing slightly, “I was thinking that with the first one too, but hard-light works so… geometrically.”

“You want the curve,” said Widowmaker, pushing off from the bed and looking over Sombra’s shoulder, “I’d make the base a bit wider, too. And you don’t want it _perfectly_ round, it should be able to hit harder at some angles more than others so you can play around with—”

“Are you backseat dildo-making?” said Sombra, looking over her shoulder at Widowmaker.

“Merely some suggestions,” said Widowmaker, shrugging.

Sombra adjusted a slider on the screen. “How about this?”

Widowmaker gave a glance back to the grid and noted the slight variations Sombra had put in the construct’s circumference, “Yes, that’s much better—If I may?” she took Sombra’s hand on the screen. Sombra watched as Widowmaker guided her hand along several of the geometric sliders, tweaking the construct this way and that. Widowmaker’s head was leaning just over Sombra’s shoulder, her free hand was at Sombra’s side, barely thumbing the loose cloth of the open sides of her tank top, loose strands of Widowmaker’s hair tickling the bare skin of her shoulders. Sombra snickered and flicked another screen open with her free hand and pressed a ‘play’ button and scaling piano and warbling male vocals started playing, ‘ _Ohhhh myyyyy looooove…’_

“What—what are you playing?” said Widowmaker.

“Unchained Melody,” said Sombra.

“…why?” said Widowmaker.

“Oh come on, _’Ghost?’_ Y’know, the pottery scene?” said Sombra as Widowmaker continued guiding her other hand over the sliders, “This is like that!” 

“You continue to be a mystery, Sombra,” said Widowmaker.

“ _You_ need to watch more movies,” said Sombra, as Widowmaker finally released her hand. They both studied the modified grid model of the would-be hard-light dildo.

“What do you think?” said Sombra.

“I can’t think of any other adjustments I would give it,” said Widowmaker.

“ _De pelos!_ We’re done! Let’s hit render!” said Sombra, hitting a button. The grid instantaneously filled in, the blue lines disappearing among glowing white. Sombra grabbed the dildo, gave it a tentative smack on the edge of the desk, then smacked it against the desk a bit harder. “Okay! Yeah I think that should do it!”

“…and… what exactly were you planning on doing with it?” said Widowmaker.

“Oh I figured I’d make like…. 300 and put all of them in Sanjay’s office,” said Sombra.

“Mm…Interesting. Akande did have that seminar, though,” said Widowmaker.

“Oh _right_ —Healthy workplace environment,” said Sombra, “300 Hard-Light dildos in a coworker’s office are not conducive to a healthy workplace environment. Don’t want to end up with HR—Wait, do we still _have_ HR?”

“I’m pretty sure Moira liquidated that department.”

“Moira’s not in charge of budget.”

“I mean she actually liquidated them.” 

“Oh yeah…” Sombra shrugged, “Still… better safe than sorry.” Sombra looked over the dildo wistfully, “Shame…And after all that designing, too.”

“Well it doesn’t have to be a total loss…” said Widowmaker.

Maybe if I made something _equally_ embarrassing—” Sombra started.

“ _Or_ we could—” Widowmaker tried to cut in but Sombra kept going.

“I really thought I had something there with the dicks. Maybe something stupid? Take it from the ‘You’re not so special’ angle?”

“I was thinking _we_ should—”

“Rubber ducks? Maybe just spheres? Turn his office into a ball pit? Or is that too fun? No, he’s allergic to fun,” Sombra gasped, “Ooh! Or I could keep the shock absorption and make the hard-light softer, so I can make those foam cubes that are total hell to move through—”

Widowmaker suddenly grabbed the back of Sombra’s chair, swiveled it around hard 180 degrees and stopped it by re-gripping the chair-back, Sombra swayed and wobbled in the seat with the sudden movement, but was now facing Widowmaker. “ _Sombra,”_ said Widowmaker, exasperated.

“What?” said Sombra.

“Shut up about Sanjay for a minute. Have you given any thought to testing it?” said Widowmaker.

“Testing it—Oh…” Sombra read Widowmaker’s expression and her eyes lit up, “Well, that’s… certainly something we could do…”

A half-huff fell out of Widowmaker and she grinned in that cool, piercing manner of hers, “Were you really,” she brushed her fingers down Sombra’s collarbone, “So caught up in how clever and funny you thought you were,” her hands traced over the curve of Sombra’s sports-bra bound breasts, “That you thought you could wave that thing in my face,” her hands traced down Sombra’s waist and conformed to her hips, “And not expect me to fuck you senseless with it?”

“Well, I’m a hand talker, as I’ve said,” said Sombra, readjusting herself in her seat and taking hold of the zipper of Widowmaker’s hoodie, “And you’re a busy girl, Araña, I figured it would be rude to assume,” she slowly dragged the zipper down, “And for that matter, how do you know I wasn’t planning on fucking _you_ senseless with it?”

“Which should I go with—the ‘I’m Sombra and I’m so caught up in getting petty revenge on Sanjay that I forgot what dildos are actually for’ answer, orthe ‘I’ve been running my mouth entirely too long and I know it,’ answer.”

“You like me running my mouth,” said Sombra, grinning. Widowmaker loved that grin. The ‘Please destroy me,’ grin.

“I like your mouth,” Widowmaker half-conceded, chucking Sombra gently on the chin and running a cool blue thumb over Sombra’s lower lip.

Widowmaker’s yellow eyes flicked back to Sombra’s screens, “…do you think you can make a harness with that projector?”

“That would take too long—” said Sombra, swiveling in her chair and opening one of her desk drawers, digging through it before pulling out a harness and handing it to Widowmaker.

“…just stuffed in a drawer?” said Widowmaker, arching an eyebrow.

“I’m a _creative_ ,” said Sombra, with that same Sanjay-mocking aristocratic hand-flourish as earlier. “I’m _bohemian_. I know where everything is,” she said, pulling a small bottle of lube out as well.

“Of course,” said Widowmaker, pulling down her pants.

“Do you think we actually _need_ the lube, or maybe we could dial down the friction of the hard-light surface area low enough to—whoop!” Widowmaker scooped Sombra up out of her chair and heaved her onto her bed in a fluid movement. Sombra’s screens were bound to her spinal implants, so they were still hovering around her as she pushed up to a sitting up position.

“Nice lift. Dancer, huh?” said Sombra.

“Mm-hm,” Widowmaker didn’t take her eyes off of her as she shrugged out of her unzipped hoodie. revealing a pale pink tank top, “Still talking so much…”

“You see the shit I see and you always have something to…” Sombra’s train of thought dropped off completely as Widowmaker pulled down her panties, “Uh…”

Widowmaker snickered a little before pulling on the harness. _So, there are some things that can shut you up,_ thought Widowmaker smugly before grabbing the hard-light phallus off the desk and slipping and fastening it into place. Sombra stared, head tilted slightly, as if hypnotized by the gentle bouncing of the strap as Widowmaker made the necessary adjustments. Widowmaker was reminded a little bit of anglerfish in that moment, the glow of hard-light matching their bioluminescence, drawing her prey in.

“I’ll be taking that—“ said Widowmaker, taking the bottle of lube from Sombra’s hands. 

“Uh huh,” said Sombra, not making eye contact. Widowmaker smirked as she poured out a little into her palm and rolled her hand it over the tip.

“Do you want this?” said Widowmaker, running her hand up and down the length of the shaft.

“Yeah,” Sombra said, nodding slowly.

“Top off,” said Widowmaker.

Sombra practically threw her loose tank top off and moved to yank off her sports bra but Widowmaker said “Slower,” and Sombra’s hands hesitated at the elastic. Sombra bit her lip and looked up into Widowmaker’s eyes, slowly hooking her thumbs under the elastic band and slowly pulled out and upward, her tits surrendering to gravity and slipping under as Widowmaker watched, a hand between her own legs. Sombra made a soft “ff” sound inhaling through her teeth as her eyes flicked down. Widowmaker’s smirk turned sharp as Sombra finally pulled the sports bra over her head, revealing cute iridescent purple barbell piercings on her nipples. Widowmaker kept up her own hand, working at her folds to draw her own wetness to her clit. She knew she didn’t come near a normal human body temperature, but Sombra never seemed to mind. Sombra reached a hand to the waistband of her own shorts but Widow caught her wrist and Sombra’s eyes flicked up. 

“So impatient,” Widowmaker tsk-tsked before guiding Sombra’s hand up under her tank top just as she had guided Sombra’s hand with the sliders earlier. Sombra’s own hand surged up eagerly beneath the thin cloth, only to meet Widowmaker’s silky bralette. Widowmaker snickered at Sombra’s hand practically _clawing_ the cloth aside to get to the tit, a half-sigh falling out of her as she thumbed Widowmaker’s already-peaked nipple as Widowmaker released her wrist. Sombra managed to shove the tank top up and drag the bralette down, framing Widowmaker’s small breasts between the rumpled cloth of pink tank top and purple bralette. Widowmaker drew her hand out from between her legs and now with both hands freed, gently shimmied Sombra’s shorts and panties off and out from under her. Sombra’s knees parted as soon as her shorts hit her ankles, but Widowmaker enjoyed simply running her hands maddeningly at Sombra’s lower stomach and hips, feeling Sombra tense her abs in frustration. 

“Are you _sure_ you want this?” Widowmaker cooed as Sombra dragged her own hands down the length of Widowmaker’s torso.

“Are you _sure_ you wanna keep being an asshole?” said Sombra with a haughty head shake, before Widowmaker gripped her shoulder and shoved her down to the mattress, prompting a “ _Fffuck_ yes!” as Widowmaker’s hand slid up the interior of her thighs.

“I figured,” said Widowmaker, stroking her still-lubed fingers against Sombra’s pussy and then withdrawing them, spreading her fingers and looking at the silvery lines of Sombra’s wetness drawing thin between them. She pressed the head of the strap against Sombra’s clit for a few tentative rubs.

“Are you _suuuure_ —” Widowmaker mocked.

“Oh my _god_ , Araña, can you quit playing with your food and just— _FUCK!_ ” said Sombra and Widowmaker slid the strap into her.

“Good?” said Widowmaker.

Sombra was biting the knuckles of one hand and gripping the sheet with the other. “mm-hmm..” was all she managed before Widowmaker pushed herself deeper and she moaned. Widowmaker brought her hands under Sombra’s thighs, angling her hips upward to see how she could explore her deeper.

“I’m just going to…” Widowmaker shouldered one of Sombra’s legs and pressed deeper and Sombra cried out as she felt the hard-light strap hit her at new angles.

“You’re flexible too,” said Widowmaker, now finding a rhythm to her hips as she pressed deep and dragged out slow, “You could be a dancer.”

“Nnh—ahh,” Sombra was grabbing at her own tits as Widowmaker kept up her rhythm.

“I think I like your singing more, though,” said Widowmaker, picking up her pace, but only slightly. The harness and the base of the strap were rubbing at her own clit. She could slow her pace, teasing Sombra further, but also figuring out how to angle her own hips just so to maintain her own pleasure and arousal. Just looking at Sombra, the cocky little conspiracy theorist reduced to a moaning, quivering tangle of purple-highlighted hair, bouncing tits and twitching thighs did a fair amount of that already though.

“Ah—fuck—me—mierda—” Sombra’s back was arching as Widowmaker kept up her steady strokes.

“Mm… tacky…” said Widowmaker, flicking at one of Sombra’s nipple piercings.

“You—ffff—you love them, asshole! Haa—” A sound was pressed out of Sombra as Widowmaker readjusted Sombra’s leg on her shoulder and laid a gentle kiss on her ankle before tentatively pressing deeper. 

“I love your fixation on them,” said Widowmaker with a smirk, fiddling with the little barbell piercing, tugging it one way and then the other as she picked up the pace with her hips, letting Sombra’s leg drop off her shoulder and just hitting harder, faster, and deeper.

Sombra’s breath caught in a half-cry as she tilted her own hips upward to meet her. Sombra was flat on her back, Widowmaker’s movements jolting her whole body. “Yes—yes…” Sombra’s thighs were quivering a little. She was nearing her peak. Widowmaker moved to quicken her pace further, to make her scream, but then Sombra’s hand came up, not for her tit, but for her arm. “Hey—” Sombra panted, “Hey—can you…”

Confusion twisted up Widowmaker’s expression for a second. When she said she was going to fuck Sombra senseless, she meant _senseless_ , and the fact that Sombra could still get words out other than “Fuck” or “mierda” or “Araña” half-indicated to her that she should go _harder_ , but Sombra said, “C’mere—come—come down here…” and Sombra’s hand trailed down Widowmaker’s arm and pulled at her hand. Widowmaker’s own perplexity won out over her need to dominate and she bent over Sombra, supporting herself on the mattress with her elbow as she kept up her strokes. Sombra suddenly wrapped her arms around Widowmaker and kissed her, hard on the mouth. That level of pleasure Widowmaker had been maintaining for herself suddenly spiked upward out of nowhere, tensing tighter and tighter within her. There was something terrifyingly vulnerable about it, and pretty much every thought in Widowmaker’s head fell silent save for the sentence, _“Ah. Her lips are warm.”_ Then suddenly that coil of pleasured tension she had been holding within herself seized, and Widowmaker felt her own hips spasm with climax, but she did her best to disguise it with her own thrusts—no, _ride_ it with her own thrusts. She moaned into Sombra’s mouth. She wasn’t sure if her brain was just filling in a memory of warmth or if it was the actual sensation, but Sombra’s lips broke from hers and her breath fogged against Widowmaker’s face, “I love you—I—I love you, Araña...”

_Oh she_ is _senseless,_ thought Widowmaker, but that thought didn’t seem to pull her out of the haze, rather she just let herself fall deeper into it—she pretty much collapsed on top of Sombra, that last sudden drop pushing Sombra over the edge and making Sombra’s legs spasm with her orgasm, her cries warm against Widowmaker’s cheek as Widowmaker eked out a few last strokes to hold her at that crest a little bit longer before Sombra eased down, panting, a drop of sweat running between her breasts. Widowmaker pulled out of her and lay down, holding her. She watched Sombra’s tits rise and fall as Sombra slowly caught her breath. Sombra readjusted herself in Widowmaker’s arms, looking up at her with a lazy grin and half-lidded eyes as Widowmaker gently slid the harness off.

“You were incredible, Araña,” Sombra sighed as she slid a hand down Widowmaker’s stomach and between her legs, “Just…”

Widowmaker’s hips jumped as Sombra found her clit.

“Woah!” Sombra’s eyes lit up with slight surprise at Widowmaker’s sensitivity, “Guess that got you worked up too, huh?” She pressed her fingers against her again and Widowmaker’s hips jumped once more. Sombra felt at the wetness there and Widowmaker’s hips jumped again as she explored.

“You already came?” said Sombra, her eyes wide, “When did you—” Sombra’s brow crinkled in thought for a second, then her eyes widened again, “Did you come when I kissed you?!”

“You know we modified the base of that dildo so that there would be some stimu—” Widowmaker cut herself off at the sight of the shit-eating grin on Sombra’s face, “Fine. Yes. I did. Are you happy?”

“Yooooou caaame when I kiiiisssed yooou,” Sombra said in a sing-song voice, snuggling up against her.

“I did say I like your mouth,” said Widowmaker, smiling and glancing off.

“You _looooooove_ meeee,” said Sombra.

“Somehow,” said Widowmaker, tucking a loose strand away from Sombra’s face. They enjoyed the afterglow for a few minutes.

“Still thinking about petty revenge?” asked Widowmaker after a few seconds.

“Mm? On who? For what?” said Sombra.

“Oh—It’s not important,” said Widowmaker, kissing her on the temple.


End file.
